Consolation Prize
by Sorrel
Summary: Post-"Tomorrow" Wesley finds himself living with Spike, who he wants there, and Faith, who he doesn't. After the dust settles, the three of them find a new way to love.


**Consolation Prize.** A good-sized chunk of this story is intensely lyrics-driven. Therefore, the song credits, in the order that they are mentioned: "Father of Mine" by Everclear, "Awakening" by The Damning Well, "Hover" by Trust Company, and "I Won't Spend Another Night Alone" by the Ataris.

* * *

****

The knock came loudly at his door, but Wesley ignored it. There was no one that he wanted to see, and nothing that he wanted to hear from anyone that might perhaps show up, and therefore there was no possible reason why he should open the door. Thus, he ignored the knock.

It came again, though, and whoever it was kept knocking for a full five minutes until he just couldn't stand it anymore and he stormed across the living room and yanked open the door.

"Can I come in?" Spike wanted to know.

"It depends," Wesley replied mildly, "On why Angel's grand-childe wants in my apartment."

"Fuck, mate, you know the soddin' poof has nothing t'do with us," Spike said. "'M just here because I'm bored, need someone to talk to for a bit. You're always good for a decent chat, an' you've never had a problem with me showing up before, but if you're goin' to be that way I'll just take myself off."

"Spike, you know you're invited," Wesley said with a sort of tired irritation. "Come on in."

Spike stepped cautiously across the threshold, staring at the scar bisecting Wesley's throat. "You look… different," he offered, and Wesley snorted.

"Things happen," he said simply, as Spike stood there looking around the apartment, noting the almost obsessive neatness and the low lighting. "Cheery," he commented, and Wesley pulled his head out of the liquor cabinet, where he'd been rummaging about for a bottle of scotch.

"It's not meant to be a place of lightness and cheer, Spike. It's my purgatory, and as such should at least look the part."

"Maybe you've changed a bit, Watcher, but last time I was here you weren't exactly cheerful, but at least you weren't soddin' deserving purgatory, or whatever you think you are."

"As I said, things change," Wesley said. "Sometimes very quickly." He poured the scotch and handed the glass to Spike, who just sat and stared at the amber liquid, turning the glass around and around in his pale hands. Wesley watched him in silence for a while, then said slowly, "I can't say that I'm the only one who changed, however. Spike, what happened to you?"

Spike released a shaky laugh and ran a hand through his ungelled hair. "I'm just peachy, Watcher. What else could I be?" Even to his own ears his voice sounded overly bright, and Wesley must have heard it too, because he frowned and said, "I'm not sure what else you might be, but it's rather clear that you're not 'peachy' as you claim." His voice gentled, softened. "Spike, you know you can tell me what happened to you."

Silence reigned in the dark apartment for a while, but eventually Spike began to speak in a low, hoarse voice. "Loved her so much, but hated her so much, too. She was everything I ever wanted ad couldn't have. So I took off for Africa, found a demon who could do what I wanted. Went through his trial- now that was hell- and in the end he gave me exactly what I asked for."

"What did you ask for, Spike?" Wesley prompted when the vampire fell silent.

"I said I wanted to give her what she deserves," Spike said in a controlled voice. Wesley began to get an idea of where this was going, but he had to ask nonetheless.

"What did he do to you, then?"

In a sort of answer, Spike unbuttoned his shirt until it gaped over his chest. And there, right in the middle of the expanse of pale skin, was a vicious burn scar in the shape of a large hand. Wesley reached out and stroked it with just his fingertips, then raised his gaze to meet Spike's own.

"He gave you back your soul."

"Yeah," Spike said, and shifted restlessly on the couch. Wesley removed his hand and sat watching the vampire, waiting for him to say something more. "It's the weight of the fucking world crashing down on me and crushing me and everything's _screaming_ and I can't make it go _away_ and I can't make it _quiet_ and-"

His voice had begun to quaver and speed up until his words were tumbling over and over each other like gold between a miser's palms, and Wesley thought it sounded like some inner barrier had been broken and marveled that Spike had managed to hold it together this long. In the space of the same breath he was pulling the vampire across the couch and into the sheltering warmth of his body. Spike collapsed against his chest and cried like a child while Wesley wrapped and arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair with his free hand.

Eventually the storm eased, and they lay quietly in each other's arms. After a while Spike lifted his head and Wesley saw the instinctive apology rising, so he pressed two gentle fingers across his lips to keep it from reaching voice. Spike nodded in silent comprehension and laid his head back on Wesley's shoulder, who rubbed his cheek against the soft blonde hair and thought of his history with Spike.

They'd met in a bar during his "rogue demon hunter" days (and his mental snort at using the term even in his own head sounded astonishingly like Spike) but he hadn't known that the cocky blonde sucking down a beer on the barstool next to him was William the Bloody- he hadn't even realized he was a vampire. They'd talked for a while, and argued the merits of various footie teams, and had met for a few more nights before parting on good terms. It hadn't been until later, when a chipped Spike had shown up in LA and had run into him at yet another bar, that he'd realized exactly what, and who, his drinking buddy was.

And like a fool, he'd _still_ ended up inviting Spike back to his flat that night. Of course, the vampire couldn't bite him, but there were a hundred and one other things that Spike _could_ have done, if he'd wished.

Instead, they were up till three in the morning drinking, and when they finally did fall asleep it was in a drunken tangle on the couch. Wesley had noticed that even though vampires didn't breathe, Spike somehow managed to snore.

The vampire was gone the next morning, and when Angel had announced that he'd slept with a bleached blonde the night before he'd almost had a heart attack on top of his hangover. But Angel had said nothing further to suggest that he knew exactly who the bleached blonde had been, and Spike had only showed up rarely after that, so the issue had never become, well, an issue.

And he'd only shown up when he was upset and needing something, or when _Wesley_ had been upset and needing something, and had called him. Sometimes Wesley had even gone down to Sunnydale to see him, though he was always very, very careful when he did, because God knows what Buffy or her friends would have thought of their unorthodox friendship. But somehow, it always felt like Spike had been there, with alcohol and a ready insult to whatever demon was nearest, so that they could have something to kill for fun. And even the close friendship he'd had with Gunn- for a while, anyway- hadn't had the simple, uncomplicated ease of whatever it he'd had with Spike.

The strangeness of that thought, even if spoken only in his own head, brought him back to the present and he looked down at the vampire asleep on his shoulder. He'd failed at so much in his life- gaining his father's approval, his handling of the two Slayers, and most recently at saving Angel's son- and he was determined not to fail this time. Spike needed him, and just then he badly needed to take care of someone. He would bring Spike back to himself, because he refused to see the cocky vampire whose presence he'd enjoyed so much turned into a brooding copy of Angel, or worse, a gibbering lunatic.

And maybe saving Spike would help him save himself.

* * *

****

Wesley watched in amusement as Spike tried very hard to sit still in the kitchen chair as he'd been told to do. The vampire was fidgeting, trying to fight the urge to stand up and move closer to Wesley for simple comfort, but Wesley had decided that Spike needed to occasionally make at least an attempt at something resembling independence, and so he was stuck in the chair while Wes cooked himself breakfast.

Wesley grinned at him when he saw Spike almost wriggling in place in his assigned chair, and Spike mock-pouted at him. "You're a mean Watcher, you are."

"I know," Wesley said mildly. "But we've been through this at least a hundred times in the last few days. You need to be able to be on your own sometimes. Neither of us can possibly function if we're glued together all the time. So, sit."

"Alright," Spike grumbled. "But I still think you're mean."

"Yes, I'm terribly hurt by the devastating insult you've just dealt me," Wesley said dryly, flipping his pancakes with an expert hand. "Have you considered that maybe it might be good for you to try to lessen the... clinging, a little? Not because I really mind," he said hastily when a hurt look crossed Spike's face, threatening to descend into a pout, a real one this time. God, anything to avoid the pout. "I enjoy your company. I'm just worried about you. I miss the self-appointed 'Big Bad' and I don't him often, anymore."

Spike's eyes dropped to the floor. "Don't wanna be him anymore," he said in a low voice. "He was bad. He hurt people."

"If you start brooding I'm going to hit you," Wesley said, in a calm, meditative voice, and Spike's shocked gaze snapped to his face. Wesley smiled at him, trying to impart him thoughts with voice and eyes and body language as much as his words.

"I'm hardly asking you to go out and drink the blood of the innocent, Spike. I'm just wondering why you can't have a soul and still be a cocky bastard with a vulgar sense of humor and a high tolerance for alcohol."

"I... don't know." Spike looked poleaxed, like he'd been hit between the ideas with a two-by-four, or maybe just an idea. "Because that's him," Spike argued, "and I'm not him. Can't be the same."

Wesley was silent for a long moment, marshalling his thoughts into a decent argument. "You know," he said after a while. "Thinking himself separate from Angelus was the biggest mistake Angel ever made. He thought that they were different people, that they were polar opposites- Angel all good, Angelus all bad. He blamed every evil thing he ever did, except one-" and a shadow crossed his face, a tiny flinch visible around his eyes while his breath hitched ever-so-slightly, "-on Angelus, as a way of absolving himself of all guilt. Oh, of course he brooded constantly, but he didn't really blame _himself_ for all those deaths, because of course it wasn't _really_ him."

He saw that he had Spike's complete attention now. "But you see, the problem with that theory is this: Angel and Angelus are the same person. The soul or lack of one doesn't affect his range of thoughts and emotions, only the conscience. Vampires don't have one, in the usual course of things. With a soul, he still wants all the things that he wanted without one- he still wanted to drink blood, and to rip the heads off of errant secretaries and their mindless filing systems." Another flinch at the reminder of a friend lost. "The soul just made him want to control those impulses, it didn't eliminate them. Conversely, without the soul he still loved Buffy, even though it was twisted and wrong. You yourself loved Buffy, even without a soul, and gave up everything for her that most humans never even get close to." He paused and took a deep breath. "That mistake almost cost everything last year, so I hope you don't repeat it. You can be the Big Bad and still live off of pig's blood, or even human donor blood that's found unsuitable, if you choose. Do you understand? Because I'd hate to think I had to go through talking about Angel and not actually make a point."

Spike was out of his chair and at Wesley's side in an instant, rubbing his back comfortingly with one cool hand. "I understand," he said. "I'm sorry you had to talk about him 'cause I know you want to forget, but I finally got it."

"Good enough for me," Wesley said, and leaned against him. "More than good enough for me."

* * *

****

They were curled up on the couch, the favorite spot, and watching an old horror movie on tv. Wesley listened with appreciative amusement to Spike's endless stream of creative insults on everything from the overly dramatic lines to the heroine's pancake makeup.

"You know," he said when Spike thumbed the mute button for the ad break, "we have to be the two most physically affectionate men who are _not_ physically involved that I have ever seen."

"Pet, anyone who saw us would think we were gayer than the day is long, but what do we care?"

"We don't," Wesley said, shifting against Spike's chest to get more comfortable. "But don't you think it's a little odd, at least, that we sleep together?"

"No," Spike said firmly, and tightened his loose embrace till it was something closer to a hug. "Better than waking up alone, isn't it?"

"Good point," Wesley said agreeably, and hit the mute button again when he saw the movie had come back on. "Don't want to miss a single one of her high-quality screams, now, do we?"

"Like pearls from her ruby lips," Spike said poetically, albeit sarcastically.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Wesley and Spike exchanged a look, wondering who the _hell_ was actually knocking on the door to his apartment and not sure if they really wanted to know, but after a moment Wesley untangled himself from the mess of arms and legs and went to answer the door.

"Hey," Faith said as soon as he opened it, and from across the room Spike saw the muscles in his back tighten, and he wondered what, exactly, the dark Slayer had done to his Watcher.

"Hello, Faith," Wesley said composedly. "Out on parole?"

"Got it in one, Watcher mine. Can I come in?" Then her gaze went past him to Spike, lounging on the couch. "Oh. Didn't know you had company."

"Spike's not company," Wesley told her. "He lives here."

Spike wondered, briefly, at his phrasing. Wesley could have said, "He's staying here," or even, "He's living here." Both implied transience, a thing of the moment. But he'd used the more permanent-sounding, "He lives here."

"You've changed," Faith said appreciatively as she stepped past him. He shut the door behind her. "Not only working for a vampire, but living with one? And this one doesn't even have a soul. I'm shocked."

"First of all," Wesley said as he crossed the room and settled down next to Spike, "I don't work for Angel anymore. He worked for me for a time, but we have ended our association."

Nice way of putting it, Spike thought.

"Second of all," Wesley continued as he rearranged himself around Spike's body, "you could hardly expect me to remain the same mewling milksop that you knew as your Watcher for several years. Scars build up."

From the look he was giving Faith, Spike thought that Wesley had collected more than his share of scars from the other Slayer.

"Third and finally," Wesley said, leaning his head back against Spike's shoulder, "Spike is, indeed, in possession of his soul. Now, would you care to explain why, exactly, you are in my apartment?"

Faith's gaze took in their intimate sprawl and glittered with rampant speculation, but she made no comment and instead just answered the question. "I went by the address Angel me a while ago- some hotel?- but it was completely deserted. So I showed up here."

"Did you need somethin', pet, or were you just bored?"

Faith's eyes went from Wes's face to his- the whole three inches between them- and there was something odd in her eyes when she said, "Place to stay the night?"

"You're welcome to the couch," Wesley said easily. Too easily, but Spike figured he could deal with that later.

"What, not going to do the honorable thing and offer me your bed?" Faith's tone would be almost flirtatious, Spike decided, if her voice weren't so hard.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Spike and I would hardly be able to share the couch the whole night long," Wesley pointed out. "We wouldn't fit. And I doubt he feels any more willing than I to give over our bed to an uninvited guest."

Her eyebrows shot upwards at that, and her mouth start to form the "o" of a startled, _"Our_ bed?" But she recovered quickly- Spike had to give her that- and said with studied casualness, "The couch is fine."

"Glad to hear it," Wesley replied, and his voice was so smooth that Spike almost missed the sarcasm. "We'll just be off to bed and get out of your way. I'll bring the extra blankets out in a minute."

And Spike found himself hauled to his feet and dragged out of the room.

* * *

Wesley fumed to himself as he went over to the chest of drawers near the window and drew out an extra pillow and blanket. He had to be the good guy; he had to take in strays. Well, Spike didn't count as a stray because of the history between them, and Faith was more of a poisonous snake than a homeless puppy. But Spike, at least, he wanted to be here. Faith... He sighed. He's invited the damn poisonous snake to sleep on his couch.

Ignoring Spike, who was already stripped down to his jeans, stretched out on the bed, and watching him with eyes that saw more of him than he usually liked to be seen, Wesley fussily straightened the pile of blankets and made his way back into the living room.

Only to stop dead a few steps in. Faith was... standing there, half-naked, wearing her low-slung black jeans and nothing else, her shirt tossed on the couch and her bra in her hands. He stared for a moment, taking in her dark brown nipples, the tautness of her stomach, the swell of her hips, and then he closed his eyes.

Almost distantly he heard her laugh and say, "Like what you see?" Her voice was low and amused, and Wesley made some sort of noise at the back of his throat and tossed the blanket and pillow at her before fleeing back to the bedroom.

Spike looked up sharply at the sound of the slammed door, and held Wesley tightly against him when his Watcher crawled onto the bed a moment later. Wesley was shaking, fine tremors wracking his body and his helplessness caused Spike unbeating heart to ache even as he pulled the man protectively closer.

"She tortured me," Wesley whispered after a minute, low and hoarse and broken against Spike's chest. "For hours. After a while she said she wanted to switch to sharp for a while. Broke a pane of glass in the picture frame." He laughed, bitterly. "I suppose I should be grateful there's only one window in my living room, shouldn't I? Of course, there's always the knives in the kitchen. The lighter on the coffee table. The electric drill in the-"

Spike pressed Wesley's face against his chest to cut off the litany of potential torture implements. He felt literally sick to his stomach knowing what had happened to his friend- and he still found himself feeling mildly surprised at the word, as if he didn't have the right to use it, even after all this time- but he didn't know what he could do to ease it.

He suddenly realized that Wesley was talking again, and he peeled the man away from his chest a little so he could here more than muted mumblings. "'M sorry, pet, but I didn't quite catch that. Mind repeating it?"

"I _said,_ the worst part isn't that she tortured me. It's that I still respond to her anyway."

Spike opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but shut it when he became aware of the slowly softening erection against his thigh. Oh, that.

"Luv, who and what your body reacts to is not somethin' any man has control of. No reason to worry about how fucked-up you are just because you got hard from a pair of tits." Yes, he had been able to see a half-dressed Faith through the open doorway, and while he couldn't deny it was a nice sight, he was too worried about Wesley to really appreciate it.

When Wesley wouldn't answer, or even look up at him, Spike put two fingers under his chin and tilted his head up so he was forced to meet his gaze. "Wes," he said, very softly, "I used to sleep with _Harmony._"

That sent Wesley into gales of laughter, and eventually the laughter turned to tears. Spike held Wes while he broke apart, and when the storm subsided they slept, curled safely in each other's arms.

* * *

****

Wes woke up to an empty bed and eyes that felt like they were swollen almost shut from his bout of crying the night before. He tried to feel embarrassed about it, then remembered that it had just been Spike, so he just shrugged and crawled out of bed. He stumbled blearily into the bathroom, noting on his way there that it was almost two o'clock in the afternoon.

After a very long and very hot shower he felt mildly human again. H was getting dressed when the sounds of a guitar being tuned drew him from his room, wearing only a pair of jeans.

Spike was seated on the couch, bent over Wesley's old guitar. "I'd forgotten I had that," Wesley said from the doorway. "Where did you learn to play?"

Spike looked up and gave him a warm grin, his hands stilling on the strings. "Picked it up here and there over the years, got a nice refresher course courtesy of the less interesting ex-Watcher."

Wesley arched and eyebrow. "Giles plays guitar?"

"Old man's got a nice set of pipes, if you can believe it," Spike said. "You ever heard him sing?"

"I can't say I've had the pleasure," Wesley said dryly, crossing the room and settling cross-legged onto the floor in front of Spike. He gave the vampire a smile of expectant warmth and said, "Play something for me?"

"'Course," Spike said, and looked at the ceiling a moment as he tried to decided what to play. And oddly melancholy expression crossed his face, and he bent back over the guitar again, his fingers already shaping the tune on the strings.

"Father of mine, tell me how have you been, you know I just closed my eyes, my whole world disappeared. Father of mine, take me back to the day, when I was still your golden boy, back before you went away."

Spike's voice was pleasant, Wesley discovered, with a smoky sweet edge that was incredibly relaxing. The subject matter, however, was quite the opposite.

"Father of mine, tell me where do you go, you had the world inside your hand but you did not seem to know. Father of mine, tell me what do you see, when you look back at your wasted life, and you don't see me."

Wesley was aware that Faith was behind him, standing in the kitchen doorway, but he was so wrapped up in Spike's song that the usual mix of fear/disgust/lust that she inspired in him didn't surface.

"I will never be safe, I will never be sane, I will always be weird inside, I will always be lame. Now I'm a grown man, with a child of my own, and I swear I'm not going to let her know, all the pain I have known."

Everyone's got their father issues, Wesley thought. Only his and Spike's were more complicated than most.

"Daddy gave me a name, then he walked away, my daddy gave me a name, then he walked away."

As the last notes faded away into the still air, he heard Faith shift behind him. "Nice," she commented. "Not the song I would have pegged you for, but nice."

Spike's gaze met Wesley's, and found perfect understanding. "Angel's a bastard," Wes said simply, and Spike nodded in agreement.

Faith cleared her throat, and Wesley turned to face her. He could see curiosity burning in her dark eyes, but evidently she decided not to comment because she nodded at the plain white mug in here hands and said, "I made you coffee."

"Thank you," he said, his voice a little stiff, and she crossed the room in a few strides to hand him the mug. The spark he thought he'd never get used to jumped between them when he fingers brushed his, but the odd thing was the startled look in her eyes, that suggested she had felt it too.

Within seconds she had retreated back to the kitchen. Spike gave him an enquiring look, which he answered with a little shrug of his own. He didn't understand Faith at all, and he doubted he was likely to, since he didn't think he would ever spend enough time in her presence to get even close to understanding her.

* * *

****

Wesley sat sprawled out on the couch and watched Faith fiddle with the stereo. Music spilled out of the speakers, and with a little smile on her face she came over to sit next to him.

"I realize... that I miss being human," wailed the singer, and Faith tapped her fingers on her thigh in time.

"I love this movie," she remarked. "The vampires and werewolves are all wrong, of course, but the fight scenes are totally awesome. The hero's not bad-lookin', either."

"Underworld?"

"Yeah," Faith said, looking at him with surprise. "You saw it?"

He shrugged. "Cordy dragged us all to the movie theatre," he said stiffly. "It was decent enough, I suppose."

"Saw it on cable one night during the poker game," Faith said blithely, either not noticing his tension regarding his former friends or ignoring it. "Watched the whole damn thing, and I _still_ won the game."

Her tone was smug, and he had to smile. "Well done."

She grinned back at him. "Damn straight. Slayer powers come in handy for kickin' ass _and_ for playin' and ass-kickin' game of poker."

They sat in meditative silence for a minute, listening to the rest of the song. When it trailed to an end, the stereo clicked and moved to a different song. The opening chords were piano, soft and sweet and melancholy, and Faith looked at him with the oddest expression on her face as she started to sing along under her breath.

"I see you leave again, it's over. And it kills me to watch you descend, to the end. Shutting me out again, are you trying? Closing me out again, are you lying?"

She stood, slowly, and held out her hand to him. "Do you want to dance?"

Deciding to wonder later whether he was insane, he took her hand and stood up, pulling her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and they swayed to the slow, sad croon of the singer.

"You take me down, further inside of me. Now I'm fading out, I can barely see..."

The song trailed away into silence, and for a heart-stopping moment neither of them so much as breathed. Then Faith stretched up, almost on tiptoes, and brushed the lightest of kisses over Wesley's lips.

The next song started in a blare of sound, and like a startled deer Faith instinctively sought escape. She was out the door, leather jacket in hand, before Wesley could even comprehend what had happened.

No, he thought as he collapsed into a stunned sprawl on the couch, he never would understand Faith.

* * *

****

The nightmare started as it always did, in the dark. Little rustling noises in the corner, and he crunches himself further into the corner to escape whatever it is. A thin line of light seeps across the dark floor from under the door, and he hugs his bony knees to his chest. He hates the dark.

Suddenly the door swings open with a hideous shriek of hinges, and his father's face is leering down at him from a great height. "Are you ready to come out, or are you not a good boy yet?"

Standing in the dark with the faint light of the moon coming through the windows, and starting into the sadistic, vampiric features of the creature that was, only moments ago, been his hero, his idol, his champion. "You're warning me?" Angelus demands incredulously, and snorts. "What happened, Wes, you finally grow a pair? Well, that's it, isn't it? The whole root of your inferiority complex. Well, good news, Wes ole boy. You don't have an inferiority complex. You're just inferior."

A hand like a ton of bricks hitting him in the jaw, knocking him into the wall, and a ringing in his ears drowns everything else out. When it clears he can hear Cordelia's low, intense voice and see her glaring at Angelus, a bottle of water in her hand.

"You don't think I was ready for this, do you? That I hadn't prepared for it. Why do you think I have a stake, stashed in my desk? A cross in my bag? I think about this happening every. Single. Day."

On his back in the hospital bed, his body jerking spasmodically as he struggles for air. His throat feels as of he's swallowing razorblades as he tries to shout for help, and the image of Angel's face is seared onto his tightly closed eyelids even as the taste of cotton forces its way onto his tongue.

Cotton gag in his mouth, constantly, but the rest is just flashes now, images and words that shift as quickly as the changing colors in a loved one's eyes.

Faith straddling his lap. "All these cuts and bruises just bring out the mother in me."

"C'mon, Wesley, where's that stiff upper lip?"

Faith with a long shard of broken glass in one hand. "We'll switch to sharp for a while."

Faith stalking around his chair, the lighter in one hand and the aerosol can in the other. "Face it, Wesley, you really were a jerk. Always walking around like you had a stake rammed up your English channel."

Straddling his lap again, leaning close and smiling almost against his lips. "Admit it, Wesley. Didn't you always kinda have the hots for me?"

* * *

****

Wesley came awake with a jerk and a gasp, his heart pounding erratically. Spike was awake in an instant at his side, pulling hi close and stroking a soothing hand down his back. "Just a nightmare, luv," Spike murmured over and over. "It wasn't real."

If only, Wes thought with a hysterical sort of wistfulness as he clung to Spike's greater strength. If only they were just nightmares, they wouldn't hurt so much.

* * *

****

Spike had gone out the past several evenings, Wesley had notice, but thankfully the vampire stayed home that night. Wes suspected that it was Spike's over-protective instinct kicking in again, but he didn't really care _why_ Spike stayed home, as long as the desired end result was achieved- a smirking bleached-blonde barrier between Faith and himself. Spike was fiddling with the guitar again, trying hard not to smile as Wesley begged and wheedled in an attempt to get him to play something again. He well remember Spike's singing voice, which held all the sweetness that it did when he was soothing Wesley to sleep, and he wanted to hear it again now, when he so desperately needed soothing. Faith, after all, was only a few steps away in his tiny living room.

Spike finally caved, and made an elaborate show of choosing _just_ the right song before arranging his long fingers on the strings. Wesley found himself holding his breath in childish anticipation as he waited.

"A star up in the sky goes slowly passing by, the lights below... they spell out your name. You're comfort on my mind, and you're with me all the time, and lots of feelings I can't explain."

His eyes were fixed directly on Wesley as he sang, and a weird surge of pleasure warmed Wesley's heart as the words started to sink in. Only Spike.

"Out of every girl I meet, no other can compete, I'd ditch 'em all for a night with you. I know you don't believe, you mean this much to me, but I promise you that you do."

There was more to this than Spike trying to make him feel better, Wesley realized. He'd caught the flickers in the vampire's gaze to the corner where Faith was standing, and he knew that Spike was trying to make a point to the dark Slayer as well.

"If I had one wish this is what it would... I'd ask you to spend all your time with me, that we'd be together forever. Buy a small house in central LA, raise a few kids then we'd both join a gang, just as long as we're together."

His throat was tight, Wes realized. He realized something else underneath that, but it was gone before he could figure out what it was, and Wes was left with a faint trace of frustration and a wave of loyalty for this vampiric friend of his that was so great it nearly swamped him.

"The things you make me wanna do, I'd rob a quickie mart for you, I'd go to the pound and let all the cats go free, as long as you'd be with me."

Wes snorted and hid a smirk underneath one hand. Trust Spike to find a song with a vow of loyalty that included crime.

"I won't spend another night alone, no, I won't spend another night alone..."

The song trailed to and end and Wesley smiled up at him. You won't, he vowed silently. It never occurred to him to question the intensity of the unspoken promise.

Spike smiled at him, his special warm _human_ smile that he seemed to reserve entirely for Wesley, and Wesley thought that maybe Spike knew exactly what he was thinking.

Spike played a few more songs, and the atmosphere in the little apartment was actually relaxed for a change. Wesley eventually excused himself and went to bed. Spike stayed up with Faith, it was until they were washing dishes in the kitchen that Faith brought up the topic Spike had been waiting to hear since she walked in the door, a week ago.

"You two bangin'?"

Calm, casual- that's how he figured she would play it. "You know we're not," Spike answered evenly. She didn't look up, just flushed a little and scrubbed harder at the plate in her hands.

"Yeah, well, I had to make sure."

"An' why is that, if you don't mind me askin'?"

She looked up, started. "What?"

"Why do you need to make sure he'd not attached? You couldn't be wantin' him for yourself, now, could you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She was angry now. Good. "Sure you do, Slayer. Y'want the Watcher, it's bloody obvious to anyone with eyes. You want him, an' you want to make sure the way's clear. I think it's bloody stupid to want to have a try at a relationship with someone you've tortured in the past, but that's your affair. My only concern it how it's gonna affect him."

"So, what, you're warning me off?"

"No," he said, holding her gaze steadily with his. "I'm warning you that if you hurt 'im, you won't live much longer. Simple fact, not warning. He's my friend, and he may be attracted to you, but I'm hardly going to stand by and let you destroy him all over again."

His accent had slipped into one that was almost upper-crust in his anger, but Faith barely even noticed. Her attention was focused on the one line that she found important in his little speech.

"He's attracted to me? And admitted it to you? Damn. Bet that just chaps your lily-white ass, doesn't it," she observed suddenly. "That you've never done a damn thing to him, and here you are, right by his side, but he still wants the girl who tortured him."

He shrugged, tiredly. "Doesn't matter in the long run, does it?" he said. She eyed him with something like sympathy, and impulsively made an offer that she never would have made, before.

"Go out tomorrow night," she said. "Give me the chance to make my move. If it doesn't work out I'll take off and you'll be here to put him back together. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Friends do that."

"So whaddaya say?" she demanded, and he gave her a tiny smile.

"Sounds good enough," he said, and she stuck out her hand. Staring at it like he thought it was going to bite him, he clasped it with his own and shook.

* * *

****

Wesley suspected that something was going on. He wasn't thick, and he could see what was going on around him, not matter what some people claimed. Spike had been just a shade too nonchalant when he'd left for the night, and nary a mocking word had passed Faith's lips for the whole evening.

He didn't know precisely _what_ was going on, however, so he said nothing of his suspicions to Faith while she cooked him dinner. He watched, though, watched the little smile on her face and listened to her cheerful humming, and he soon began to get an idea of how she intended this evening to turn out.

The only question was whether he was going to go along with it.

He thought about it all the way up through dinner, and by the time Faith started to clear away the dishes he was no closer to an answer. She stepped close to his side to pick up his plate and glass, and he caught her hand as it reached past his chest.

He held her wrist captive and examined her face, studying that startled but sensual look in her dark eyes. She cocked her head to the side and met his gaze boldly before slowly rotating her arm in his grip until her fingers were curled against his, and he felt the tips of her nails scraping shivery circles on the calloused skin of his palm.

He yanked her into his lap with one smooth movement, and she tumbled into his loose embrace, laughing. He stilled for a split second, staring down into her face, which was glowing with happiness, and then he bent his head to kiss her laughing mouth.

* * *

****

They fell into a relationship as Wesley had always known they would, with some deep integral part of him that his Watcher training had forced him to ignore. With the advantage of hindsight he could see that this was the reason he'd always handled her so badly when she was his Slayer, that he'd been trying to run away from the instinctive knowledge of _this is how it could be,_ that his flight from the seductive whisper had ruined everything.

It was so easy to listen to that whisper now, because so little remained of his old life that it was easy to cast aside the bindings of Watcher rules, the idea that intimacy with your Slayer was a death warrant. He was able to enjoy what he had with Faith fully, completely, and without a single trace of guilt.

The only fly in the ointment of his personal happiness was his deteriorating friendship with Spike. The vampire had been almost standoffish since he'd walked in the morning after to see two naked humans curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching cartoons. He'd reverted from the almost sunny personality he'd grown to show back into the abrupt, sullen, rude and deeply sardonic person that Wesley had mentally dubbed the "Sunnydale Spike." Gone, also, were the easy, comfortable touches, and Spike had taken Faith's place on the couch while Faith had taken Spike's place in Wesley's bed.

All this was neither unexpected nor entirely unreasonable, but it caused a lingering ache in Wesley's heart nonetheless. He wanted Spike back- _his_ Spike. And it was the sheer possessiveness of that thought that brought him to his realization.

He wanted Faith- he was happy with Faith. She was someone he'd known for years and wanted just as long. She was the girl writhing on the dance floor of a club that had always excited him, to his everlasting shame as a boy, the dark-soft-sweet-sharp goddess that made him feel alive in a world where everything he'd known was dead to him.

But then there was Spike, the friend he hadn't hoped to have when his life fell apart. He'd kept Spike sane, and in his more honest moments he could admit that Spike had done the same for him. Spike was a little bit of the older boys Wesley had always pined after at school, and a little bit of the grinning Cockney lad who had worked shirtless in the college gardens on weekdays. He was the bright-icy-hot-hard god that was both Faith's opposite and her mirror, but Wesley knew that he wanted Spike as much as he wanted Faith. He wasn't _in _love with either of them, but he loved them both, albeit in different ways.

When the answer finally came to him it was so ridiculously simple he almost laughed out loud. He though about it for a dew days, turning it over in his mind, and when he made his decision he approached Faith very cautiously, remembering all too well her white-hot temper.

"You want to invite Spike into bed with us?"

He braced himself at the incredulous tone, preparing himself for a blast of rage, and nodded.

He was a little surprised when she seemed to consider it. "Do you mean for one night, or a more long-term thing?"

He was silent, but she interpreted it correctly, as usual. "Long-term, of course. You an' him were closer than two peas in a pod before I stumbled in- you prob'ly always were a little in love with him. Don't know why I even bothered to ask."

She, too, was silent for a long moment, then startled him with a crack of laughter. "Hell, it might just work. Spike's wants you- you know that already, of course- and he'd be happier, you'd be happier, hell, even I'd be happier if we do this." She paused, considering. "I've never been the jealous type, so I don't think I'd mind sharing. 'Sides, if _Buffy_ slept with him, he must be good in bed, and I've never been one to turn down good sex." She grinned at him, her blinding smile of genuine affection, and said, "Let's go for it."

And that was that.

Approaching Spike was slightly more complicated, and didn't go quite as well. In fact, it went rather badly, and involved shouting, slammed doors, a broken chair, and Spike storming out with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and not returning till just before dawn.

Faith and Wesley had waited up for him, however, and together they guided the very drunk vampire into their bed and didn't let him leave until he'd given up his protests.

Faith was right- Spike was very good in bed.

Something clicked with the addition of Spike to their relationship. The vague uneasiness that plagued them all, if for different reasons, eased back some when the three of them were together, and past sins didn't seem quite so monstrous when one had two lovers to soothe and kiss the pain away.

* * *

It was near the end of summer when the knock came at their door. The three of them, who had been well on their way to having sex on the living room floor, all swiveled their head to stare at the door with disbelief. A phone call would have been one thing- telemarketers were remarkably stubborn, as telemarketers tended to be- but who would be coming here, to their apartment?

Wesley, of course, was the one who eventually went to answer it when the knock was repeated. Spike and Faith briefly though about staying right where they were and shocking the visitor(s), but after a moment's consideration they decided to go over to the door and shock whoever it was from close range.

The door was yanked open, and Gunn found himself faced with a very pissed-off Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. His former friend was wearing a pair of jeans and a halfway-unbuttoned shirt, and Gunn's shocked gaze catalogued Wesley's badly mussed hair and a fresh-looking love bite on the side of his neck.

Then two other people appeared behind him, a man and a woman. The blonde man had on a pair of black jeans and nothing else, and there were bite marks similar to Wesley's across his chest. The dark-haired girl was even less dressed than the two men, wearing only a short skirt and a bra, and beard burn reddened the skin around her mouth and on her stomach.

Gunn's gaze flickered to the harsh stubble shadowing Wesley's jaw, and his eyes got wide. "Uh... am I interrupting somethin'?"

"Yes," Wesley said. "Why are you here, exactly? I'm fairly sure that I told you I wanted you to never darken my doorstep again, and yet here you are. On our doorstep."

"Um..." His gaze skittered uneasily over Wesley's... guests? He had said "our doorstep," though... "Can I talk to you alone?"

"No," Wesley said firmly. "She's Faith, the Slayer that Angel used to visit in prison. He's Spike."

"Isn't he the vampire that..."

"He's Angel's grand-childe, yes," Wesley said calmly. "He also lives here. They both do. They have for several months now, and I trust them. Therefore, anything you could say to me can be said to them as well."

Gunn said nothing, unwilling to start talking about the problem in from of two strangers, one of them a vampire. "Don't take this personally, but I don't really trust your judgment."

Wesley's face shut down as all animation left his features. Spike growled a little, low in his throat, and both he and the Slayer shifted protectively closer to Wesley.

The silence stretched out between them for almost a minute, winching painfully tighter with every passing second. Finally, Spike, in classic Spike style, decided to break it.

He stepped back to examine Gunn from a better angle. "Chip on 'is shoulder a mile wide," the vampire observed to Faith. "Nice muscle tone, though. Could still take 'im."

"Not with the chip in your head," Faith retorted, grateful for something to do besides watching one of the people that had hurt Wesley, hurt him far worse than she ever had. Arguing with Spike was something she could do blind, deaf, and dumb, but it was a good enough distraction nonetheless. Besides, Wesley usually started laughing at them when they started arguing, and Wesley, more than anyone else, could use the tension-breaker. "Couldn't hurt a fly unless the damn thing had horns."

"Advertise it, why don't you?"

"I could take him, though," Faith said speculatively, ignoring Spike's muttered complaint. "Got a nice set of muscles on him. I wouldn't mind taking this one for a ride."

"Christ, woman!" Spike growled. "You've got two men at your beck an' call. How bloody many more do you need?"

"Beck and call, huh?" She pressed herself closer and wrapped one arms lazily around his neck. "If that's the case, then I don't see how I could ever need more man than you and Wesley could provide."

Spike grinned at that and reached out one long arm to snag Wesley and pull him back against the two of them. All three turned their heads to stare at Gunn out of eyes that were different colors, but all held the same expression- half sultry heat, half cold unwelcome.

"You haven't bothered to explain what you're doing at our flat, Charles," Wesley said in a cool voice, and that coupled with the predatory smiles his two supernatural lovers wore made Gunn want to turn around and get out of there as fast as he could. But he was here for a reason, so he might as well get it out before he turned tail and ran like a girl.

"Angel's missing," he said bluntly. "All summer. So's Cordy. Fred and I are worried."

"And you came to me because..."

Gunn shivered at the sudden drop of temperature in the room from the ice in Wesley's voice, but slogged on. "'Cause you're the best there is, and without Angel and Cordy this city is screwed."

Faith snorted before Wesley could answer. "What are we, chopped liver? The Slayer-vampire team worked pretty damn well in Sunnydale, _and_ we've got the Watcher." Her fingers touched the back of Wesley's neck in a brief and blatantly possessive caress, then dropped again. "We're a pretty good team, the three of us."

Something teased at the edge of Wesley's mind, something about Faith's words vaguely familiar, but it vanished after a second and he opened his mouth to tell Gunn to get the hell out of his flat.

"We'll help."

Spike and Faith both looked at him as if he had sprouted two heads. "Are you insane?" Spike demanded. "He tried to _kill_ you."

Wesley sighed and caught Spike's incredulous gaze with his own. "We all have things to atone for," he said, in a very low voice, hoping that Gunn wouldn't hear. He didn't really want to hear what Gunn had to say about it.

Wesley saw understanding fill up the vampire's eyes, but before he could answer Gunn snorted loudly, effectively cutting him off. "Nothing could ever atone for what you did, English. No matter what the hell you tell yourself."

Both Spike and Faith turned very, very slowly, the loving looks they'd turned on Wes morphing into something cold, and frightening. "What was that you said there, little man?" Spike said, and his voice had this low purr that had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with the danger coiled under his skin. "Something other than him not being fit to lick Wes' boots, isn't that right?" Tag, Faith's it.

She picked the ball up easily. "I'm pretty sure I heard somethin' like that, yeah. I think it's pretty funny, him coming here to ask Wes a favor, and still thinkin' that Wes is beneath him." Tag, Spike.

"See, now here's what I'm thinkin'. I'm thinkin' he needs to be shown the error of his ways, don't you?" Tag.

"Oh, I definitely think so."

And Wes said nothing, did nothing to stop them when they advanced oh-so-slowly over the short stretch of floor that separated them and Gunn, just leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his bare chest. And smiled, just a little.

Spike didn't make the first move, from fear of hurting the human and having his chip go off, so he stood back just a little bit and let Faith make the first move. He shouldn't have bothered- Gunn didn't put up much of a fight, despite him lookin' all tough and macho, just tried and failed to duck when Faith grabbed him by one arm and neatly flipped him onto his back.

There was a thud when he landed, and just like that vampire and Slayer were on him, Spike pinning his arms down above his head and Faith straddling his chest, one fist cocked. And then she hesitated, just for a second, and looked at Wes.

Who shook his head. She sighed, relaxed her arm and stood up, motioning for Spike to free him. Spike sighed audibly, but did as he was instructed, and freed the man.

Gunn was on his feet in a moment, tense and battle-ready, only the others weren't playing. Spike and Faith had already moved back to Wesley's side, and Wes was just watching him with pale, inscrutable eyes.

"Wes kept me sane when I would have lost it," Spike said into the silence. "He was a friend when no one else bothered."

"He forgave me, when no one else would," Faith chimed in. "I gotta say, Junior, you're not showing me a whole hell of a lot of character at the moment, swaggering in here like Wes owes you anything. First thing you learn outta life, if you ever learn shit, is that just because someone screws up, doesn't mean they owe you jack. Wes recognized a danger that none of the rest of you could even see, and worked for weeks in secret to try to prove that the danger wasn't real. Angel, yeah, Angel has a right to hold a grudge. But you, kiddo- you got nothing. Just a fucked-up rage because Wes wasn't as perfect as you thought he was, and I gotta tell you- blaming someone because he didn't fit on the pedestal you'd made, well, that's worse than anything Wes has ever done."

She paused, letting everything she said sink in, and later on she would swear that Gunn had almost gone pale, skin color notwithstanding. Spike tool the opportunity to smile at the young man, making sure that all the malevolence and desire to hurt that was welling under his skin showed in his eyes. He had a soul, sure. That didn't mean that he wouldn't rip the entrails out of anyone who threatened his Wes.

"Get the hell outta our home," they growled in unison, and Gunn backed up, just a step, from the violence that the two were showing him, and the knowledge that maybe he'd made a terrible mistake, and that these two killers were the ones to show it to him. He realized that if he waited much longer he might lose the chance to leave with all his limbs intact, and beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind him.

Wes and Spike and Faith all looked at each other in the little pool of silence that followed, and both Spike and Faith were astonished to see tears pooling in his eyes. Tears, from their Wes, and they wanted to go and hunt down Gunn, make him hurt for having done this _their_ Wes.

Wes must have sensed what they were thinking, because he held up a hand to stop them, then gently extended the hand towards them both. They were on him in a rush, shoving him back against the wall with the force of it, and were wrapped around him tight as could be in just a breath. Wes let out a little half-laugh, and hugged them both back, just because they were there and they made him feel like they loved him.

"In all my life, no one's ever..." He had to clear his throat, and it was hard to keep talking with both Spike and Faith looking at him with such concern, such caring. "No one's ever cared that much. Not enough to defend me. Not like that. No one's ever said, "Wesley's right, and you're wrong." No one's ever... cared enough to take my side."

And then he couldn't breath, because Faith's mouth was on his, and Spike's tongue was tickling somewhere along the column of his neck. "We love you, Wes," Spike whispered, soft-easy in his ear. "You damn well saved us, and I know that you're thinking that we're stayin' with you out of convenience, or out of gratitude, but it's more than that." Faith slid back down to rest her head on his chest while Spike stared into his eyes, intent, hypnotizing. "None of us ever got what we really wanted out of life. I lost both the woman I loved, and Faith's still looking for redemption, and you want to be accepted by the people that scorn you. But we got each other, and that's a damn good consolation prize. Maybe even better than the grand prize and the trip to Hawaii, if we stick with it long enough to find out. But we're never gonna be able to make it that long if I don't make something clear, right here, right now."

He paused, took a deep breath. "We love you. Straight out love, hearts an' flowers an' all. We adore you, want to be with you, and it's got nothin' to do with gratitude or whatever the hell. We love you."

Faith turned her head to press a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart, and Spike stretched up and pressed his lips to Wesley's forehead. "We love you," they whispered together, and the sound of it was like honey, warm molasses seeping through his veins and spreading the warmth and sweetness as it went. He felt new, and clean, and beloved.

He felt saved.

He opened his mouth, wanted to tell them, wanted to say it in return, but his throat closed up and he couldn't get it out. "Shhh," someone whispered in his ear. "You don't have to say it. We know."

"I love you," he managed to say. "I love you both."

And then they both pulled back long enough to stare at him, and the look in their eyes, the tears that brimmed and fell, that made it worth it. That made everything worth it.

And then they were kissing again, trading off between each other, and finally a sloppy three-way kiss before just holding onto each other as if they were never gonna let go.

And later that night, when they'd curled around each other in bed, Wes lay in the middle and thought. He thought about how lucky he was. He thought about the fact that he'd gotten himself tangled in a relationship that was fraught with complications, no matter how happy they were at the moment.

And when he was sure that they were asleep, he crawled out from between them and went into the living room, book in hand. He'd found the spell, to cast a net for a lost one. It didn't take that much power- with Spike's blood it would even be easy- but that wasn't what he wanted to look at now. That he would deal with in the morning.

What he wanted to look at was an entry in a Watcher diary, belonging to one Rupert Giles. Apparently the older man had come across the mention of a triumvirate, a source of both magical power and enlightenment, with a convenient side effect of almost unlimited skill and strength in battle. Giles had written down what he'd found, but had discarded the possibility of putting it to use, since he did not believe that he had the necessary skills to make use of it, or even the inclination, considering his dislike of Angel.

The triumvirate bound a Slayer, her Watcher, and a souled vampire together. Wesley could understand Giles' reluctance perfectly- part of the binding process was sex magick, after all- but he thought that maybe the three of them could make use of it. What three people in all the world, besides them, were better suited?

He would finally have a place to belong.

"Wes?" he heard Faith call from the bedroom, sleep fogging her voice. "What the hell are you doing up? Come back to bed."

Tomorrow. He could deal with everything tomorrow. The spell to find Angel, the triumvirate, even the uneasy process of putting themselves together like any three people in love eventually have to do- it could all wait till tomorrow. For tonight, he had two people who loved him, waiting for him to join them. To be in the middle. To belong.

"Coming," he called back softly, and turned out the light.


End file.
